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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263180">bursts of hues on a monochrome universe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snyders/pseuds/snyders'>snyders</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>hyomozweek2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dr. STONE (Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Achromatopsia, Brushes, Colorblind!Hyoga, Colors, M/M, Murals, Painter!Mozu, hyomozweek2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:42:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snyders/pseuds/snyders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Because Hyoga knows he's falling. Falling for a boy who could paint Hyoga's monochrome universe, billions of colors and more. And with the strokes of his brush, Hyoga's eyes laid bare by his paint-streaked hands as he'd kiss him against the wall. The strokes of paint pressing on his naked back, memorizing its texture. <i>Rough, smooth, calloused.</i> Mozu kisses him again like he can have the whole of Hyoga plunged in different shades of pigments and hues.<br/></p>
</blockquote>And Hyoga no longer wants a normal sight to experience the beauty, because all he needs to do is to <i>feel, feel, feel.</i>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hyouga/Mozu (Dr. STONE)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>hyomozweek2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bursts of hues on a monochrome universe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is rushed like very rusheddd</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “With this brush I shall paint our love like a scenery of springtime. Depicting the blooming flowers and the sun touching upon the greenery, holding each other close as we breathe in a new air of life around us.” </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>To see the world in black and white, limiting the eyes to different shades of grey that ranges from black to white makes Hyoga’s eyes shake at the unfairness.</p><p>When Hyoga was born into this world, he was made to believe that the world only consists of colors as what his vision sees. But there’s so little in this universe that can be kept forever buried. And Hyoga’s condition is one of them.</p><p>Achromatopsia. An extremely rare condition occurring only in approximately one person in thirty-three thousand. And Hyoga is unfortunate that he is that one person, at least that’s what people think. For Hyoga though, it doesn’t disrupt his everyday life than it already does, but remains in what he considers normal as he completely eliminates colors from his life. Or the thought of it.</p><p>Despite not being able to immerse in the bursting beauty of the world’s varying colors, to Hyoga, it is fine. If he has made it this far in his life without experiencing those, then the rest of his days would be fine too. Vision stuck in that dusty, old black and white television set separated from anything. He wouldn’t mind that.</p><p>Enters a painter that appears all so suddenly in his life like a pulse of a beat in the middle of a flatline. A boy smeared with what Hyoga thought as dirt at first. Like a child.</p><p>Walking home from his job, under the broken lamp of the road, he hears a clatter and a can made out of metal rolls over after the sound—<em> producing </em> the sound. Its momentum coming to a halt right after meeting the side of his shoe.</p><p>“Hey! Can you pick it up for me?,” came a voice from down the alley. It’s dark, so Hyoga has no idea who it was still out here on this night.  </p><p>He reaches for it from where it was on the ground and feels something liquid and viscous from doing so. It’s chill on his hand, and realizes that it’s a spray. With hard scrutiny, his eyes came across the label and stayed there for a beat or two. From where the can is enclosed by his palm, it turns noticeably cold—<em>it’s a spray paint. </em>Hyoga refuses to acknowledge that it’s spite he feels.</p><p>In a similar way the can of spray paint had found itself towards him, he returned it to the owner, albeit rudely.</p><p>The next morning, Hyoga wakes up. The world is still a colorless black and white, stale to his sight. He slides open his window right beside his bed, for a fresh air, but yet, he did not expect for the strong odor that sent him into a coughing fit, slamming the window shut as quickly as he can. </p><p>
  <em> What the fuck was that? </em>
</p><p>He could nearly taste chemicals, like poison on his tongue. Then he risks it one more time. This time, covering his mouth and nose to not inhale the terrible smell.</p><p>Opening the window once more, he lets his head move just past the frame, enough for him to catch a glimpse of someone. </p><p>From below, on a narrow alley, the back of Hyoga’s house is being vandalized. Recollecting his memory from last night, he remembers a spray paint and dark alley ahead and things just click on his head sending a kind of terror.</p><p>Furiously, still in his pajamas, he grabs a mask from the tiny desk on his bedside, puts it on while descending the stairs and when he makes it out of his house, he does a turn on an alley where the person has been.</p><p>A distance away from him, “You! This is <em> my </em> property,” he calls out. He expects for the man to just run away when he’d noticed Hyoga’s presence as if a culprit that would run to save his life, but instead, grins.</p><p>“You’ll love it. My work. Come closer and give it a look.”</p><p>His eyes were proud in a way that it is lovingly warm when he spoke about it. Mixed with it is the air of confidence the boy exudes, yet Hyoga startlingly obeys.</p><p>He stands chest to chest with the other who motions his hand to look at the wall.</p><p>Turning his head, Hyoga sees waves, strokes, patterns that are much beyond his expectations. Crafted by people who only have the talent. The problem is—<em>and will always be </em> one, is that he could never witness things blossom. Couldn’t witness them in the peak of their beauty.</p><p>He staggers backwards, wanting to rip his eyes out. The person catches him from landing painfully on his ass.</p><p><em> “Tell me their colors,”  </em>he says with no control over his head. His eyes cuffed by the art, he can only hope for his sight to magically see, and colors fill his sight for his demise to be over soon.</p><p>The boy tells him. And it feels like a story. A good one.</p><p>//</p><p>He introduces himself as Mozu and he comes back time and time again on the same wall with the same purpose.</p><p>Hyoga lets him do his art<em>—a mural</em>. As what Mozu calls it on the back alley of his home with the use of paint this time. The one that doesn't stink. He couldn't tell the color, of course. No longer feeling like dying on the idea of wanting to know them when he finds something, or rather <em> someone </em> much more tantalizing than how colors would ever be.</p><p>Their gazes meet sometimes. Hyoga watches through the window, peeking through his curtain because he doesn't want to be caught staring. And Mozu would catch him anyways, looking up at the right time and waves at him from below with a smile that seems to look bright. He ignores the slight ache on his chest that he had been trying so hard to seal tight.</p><p>Because Hyoga knows he's falling. Falling for a boy who could paint Hyoga's monochrome universe, billions of colors and more. And with the strokes of his brush, Hyoga's eyes laid bare by his paint-streaked hands as he'd kiss him against the wall. The strokes of paint pressing on his naked back, memorizing its texture. <em> Rough, smooth, calloused</em>. Mozu kisses him again like he can have the whole of Hyoga plunged in different shades of pigments and hues.</p><p>And Hyoga no longer desires a normal sight to experience the beauty, because all he needs to do is to <em> feel, feel, feel. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!! catch me on <a href="https://twitter.com/nanamiukyo?s=09">Twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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